Invisible Signs and Secret Wonders 2/?
2. The Tiger Who Came to Tea
Helen does wonder what has occasioned Will's attempted inhalation of coffee, but catching sight of Nikola's gleeful expression, decides that she'd rather not know.
“We're just waiting on Henry...”
“...who is just coming, I had some soldering to finish up, which woulda been quicker without the little interruption earlier...oh, hi...” He subsides, with a bashful little wave at the stranger.
“...Katherine, this is Henry. He does our technical maintenance, amongst other things.”
Kat would have picked him out as a techie geek, anyway, he has the same scruffy but sweet demeanour as her go-to IT guy back home. He gives her a slightly grimy handshake, then shuffles over to slouch comfortably near Will. (A handkerchief appears in the corner of her vision. Kat accepts it, wipes her fingers.)
“Very well then, we can begin... Now, if Katherine hasn't yet explained, the Bancroft Foundation is an organisation that we have had some past dealings with. I'm considering the donation of a number of books, Katherine will be staying here and working in the library to assess them. And probably earmarking things that I hadn't ever intended to donate.” (They exchange grins.) “There are also certain documents that I would prefer removed to a secure location. Some have been scanned, but not all, and you may need to liaise with Henry over that. And don't feel that you have to hurry, please. You're welcome to stay for as long as you need.”
She could rather wish that Nikola had been elsewhere - he's a complication at the best of times. The story about transferring information out of the reach of SCIU becomes rather thin when one of the senior members of the agency has the run of the house.
Still, when she watches him proffer the handkerchief with a small sideways smile, the incline of his head as he listens, or his gallant offer to replenish Katherine's tea, she thinks a little dubiously that perhaps she might not have to worry about diverting his attention.
Katherine in turn is regarding him with a wary amusement, and just a faint hint of admiration, whether for the mind or the man, Helen isn't sure. Nikola is a genius, and admiring that about him is no bad thing. It's just the rest of his obnoxious, arrogant, lecherous, megalomaniac self that can be an issue.
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Kat can't believe that she's getting to sit and talk to Nikola Tesla. She'd known about him, the real him, for a few years now. James had rather enjoyed upending her world view every so often, especially when she thought she was adjusting to things - She supposes that if you can adapt to “I'm Sherlock Holmes, and I was at school with Jack the Ripper” then “And Nikola Tesla is a vampire” just carries on the theme. And now, she's getting to meet the man he spoke of with such mingled irritation and affection, and discovering exactly why that was so.
Five minutes in his company is quite enough to dispel the image of the teetotal, celibate vegetarian, and she has to wonder which particular twisted sense of humour had come up with that to start with. He is, indisputably, an incorrigible flirt. Still, it isn't like he means anything by it, after all. And she is never, ever going to get another opportunity like this.
She's spent her professional life chasing lost and hidden histories. It was how she had met James, after all, one quiet afternoon in the British Library. He'd been after a very obscure book, and had been astonished to find it already out. Tracking it down to a desk tucked away in the corner, he'd found an overly thin, sad-eyed young woman worrying her lip and writing down surprisingly comprehensive notes. She'd taken off her engagement ring and hidden it in her pocket, trying to forget her doubts by burying herself in books, something private and esoteric, just for herself, reminding herself of the scholar she had been, once.
A respectable older gentleman in leg braces offering to buy her a cup of tea had not been viewed as a threat. For a man of James' talents, it hadn't taken long to track down any and all relevant data, and he found a way to manoeuvre her into the way of leaving her dead-end job, and applying for a position with the Bancroft Foundation. (Separating her from the fiancé was almost incidental, but James hadn't taken to the man at all.)
A decade on, and she's sitting on a sofa, discussing the Scorpion kings with the world's last vampire. And he might be leaning in a little too close, and smiling in a way that she should not be finding quite so attractive, but he is also taking her seriously.
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Will's not sure whether Tesla is being flirtatious just to annoy Magnus, or whether he actually has designs on Katherine. Probably both, with some extra twisted motive in there somewhere, being him. But he's being rather obviously charming and attentive. Henry certainly thinks so, leaning over to hiss at Will,
“Dude, is it me, or is Tesla creeping on her something fierce?”
“He already knocked her off a ladder so he could play hero.”
“He engineered a 'meet cute'?” Henry shakes his head, eyes wide. “Man, he's a piece of work.”
To his mind, Tesla is looking at her the way he looks at a new piece of tech, and that mild intrigue is far more disturbing than any outright smirk.
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There's a certain amount of calculation in the way that Helen hands Katherine off to Will, with instructions for a basic tour.
Nikola settles back in his chair, smiles at her, eyebrows raised.
“Well, she'll make a quite delightful addition to the ménage. Who is she, really? Another of your protégés?”
“More one of James', actually.”
“The sly dog.”
“Nikola. He treated her like a favourite granddaughter.”
“Ah, so he would have wanted me horse-whipped for even talking to her, yes, I get it.” Nikola waves his hand dismissively. “He was always so keen to protect a virtuous English maiden from the dirty little foreigner, wasn't he?”
Helen eyes him with misgiving. When Nikola starts to feel persecuted, he's difficult to deal with, and James had always managed to stir up the most unfortunate reactions with his air of effortless superiority. Nikola's smile widens, which does nothing to alleviate matters.
“Don't distress yourself, I shall be the very soul of courtesy.” He unfolds out of the chair. “And with that in mind, I shall go and see what the hairy gourmet is preparing for dinner, and choose an appropriate vintage.”
Leaves her uncomforted. She doesn't think that Katherine needs protecting from Nikola, per se, but she does have a nasty feeling that he's going to make a nuisance of himself. Just because he can. She hadn't wanted him around at this juncture, when she's transferring information, items, money, moving the pieces. Nikola is far too clever and devious on his own account, and he has an instinct for it in others.
They have argued about his job, what she sees as his betrayal in taking blood money from SCIU, but the information he provided has been invaluable. SCIU is but a means to an end for him, Nikola holds his own allegiance. The country of his birth has long since torn itself apart, remade itself in different configurations, even if he could return, it will never be his home again. He considers himself the last of his kind, (and there is a new crater in East Africa to attest to that,) he holds no respect for any human agency, charting his own dangerous course.
But then, so have they all, a convoluted game with governments over the years, negotiating their way between the demands of those who would use them and their abilities, and manipulating in their turn. James had consulted for the British Government, but it was their heavy-handed paternalism that had driven her to Old City, an ocean between her and her ghosts. John... had become a dark myth, living off the remains of Worth's criminal network - she does not, will not think about what he may have done for money, or simple enjoyment, over the years. Nigel, no less criminal, but kinder, willing to steal, but unwilling to become an assassin, rendering himself invisible in all ways. Nikola had always been the most visible - at least, his constructed public persona.
Sixty years of isolation had done nothing for his (slightly justifiable) paranoia or his (far less justifiable) sense of entitlement. Brooding over his grievances without anyone to haul him back off the ledge. She has a better appreciation for those years now. Being wrenched out of your life, and forced to construct another. Watching the world go to hell around you.
At least she had been able to put her exile to good use. Of course, she knows now that James had certainly deduced her initial involvement with the Foundation. She had never intended it to function as an adjunct to the Sanctuary, the role was to be an entirely independent and covert reserve of information, but James had never been one to let well alone, damn him - it must have appealed to his peculiar sense of humour when he had first introduced them to each other, her blithe ignorance. But she has somewhere to send certain irreplaceable items for safekeeping, which is something she increasingly fears may become quite dreadfully necessary.
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Kat walks down the stairs with Will, Henry ambling behind them.
“So, what was it like, working with James Watson?” Will asks, curiosity getting the better of him.
“I didn't really work with him.” Kat shrugs. “He'd turn up, leave a mess all over the reading room, and nick all the good biscuits.”
There is a deep fondness in her tone, though, and her smile turns a little sad. Will suddenly wants to kick himself. Kat sees his face, hastens on.
“I don't mind talking about him. Just...I didn't get to see the amazing deductive reasoning in a professional capacity all that much.” Grins suddenly. “You certainly couldn't watch a whodunnit with him around.”
“Oh, god, I can imagine.”
“This from the guy who wrecked 'The Usual Suspects' before the opening credits?” Henry hoots.
“Come on, it was obvious.” Kat says, a beat before Will, and then they both laugh. Henry throws up his hands, and disappears back to the delicate and precise art of hitting things with a wrench. Kat looks at Will, spreads her hands.
“So, give me the tour, then, and I'll spill the dirt on James' addiction to Jaffa cakes.”
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Kat is probably the only one vaguely surprised when Tesla appears at the dinner table. Normal food and drink is not an absolute necessity for him, though he still enjoys it on occasion. But everyone has formed the unspoken opinion that the vampire is not only going to turn up, but is also going to head for their houseguest.
Helen refuses to let him monopolise the conversation, and so the discussion of whether or not Serket was a sanguine vampiris gets reluctantly shelved, in favour of a general discussion about archaeology, or at least, muddy holes people have been in. This segues into a whole conversation about experiences in swamps, and passes by degrees to stories about sewers. Helen mentions Ashley with only the slightest tremor, and the whole room breathes a little easier. Nikola rescues the mood with a tale that nobody has heard before, mainly because it involves Magnus, Mardi Gras and sequins.
Helen promptly retaliates with a story involving a pre-War dig in Egypt, a hungry Nikola and an irate camel. Nikola has to admit that honestly, even he can see the funny side of it now. He'd rather have women laughing with him, rather than at him, but he'll take what he can get.
“All my stories are second-hand, I'm afraid.” Kat sounds regretful. “Not for me, the dubious joys of fieldwork, so I missed the sight of Declan MacRae being pulled face-first through an Irish bog by a grendel...”
“That was never in his report.” Helen says, but she looks amused.
“Grendel exists? No, wait, forget I spoke.” Will waves his hands apologetically when they all give him a pitying 'dumbass' look.
“The adults are man-eaters, but these were just babies. I got to see them before they got shipped off to Djurö, and they were like these little baggy, hairless lemurs, only with these huge bat ears. Of course, they'd bite the fingers off anyone stupid enough to fall for the whole 'I'm cute, cuddle me' schtick, and they are a lot stronger than they look. He'd got it in the net, and it turned out that it was faking being tranq'd, because it took off like a rocket, screeching for mum. Which set the others off, of course, so you then had half a dozen highly trained operatives skidding about trying to hold onto these little bundles of fun. Dec said it looked like a cross between interpretive dance and mud wrestling...”
“You!” Henry suddenly sits bolt upright, points a finger. “I know who you are, now. You're the one who sent Declan that 'care package'. He made me try Marmite!”
“Marmite?” Will asks.
“Pray you never find out.” Nikola shudders fastidiously.
“Not a fan?” Kat asks. He looks down his nose.
“Please. I have a delicately nurtured palate.”
“It's an acquired taste.” She admits, unabashed.
“So many things are.” Helen says, amiably. Nikola gives her a pissy little smile. Henry still looks traumatised. Kat leans over, and pats his arm.
“Declan is an evil, evil man, and I will smack him very hard for you when I'm back in London.”
“Thank you.” Henry pauses. Asks what he knows more than one person is thinking. “So, you and Declan...?”
Kat looks equally amused and horrified.
“Heck, no. He has a very scary...I don't know if 'girlfriend' is the right word.” She grins. “She tends to blow into London every so often, hit the shops like the fist of an angry god, and then drag Dec into his bedroom for a couple of days. You probably know her, actually, Irina.”
“Irina?”
“Moscow? Legs up to her cheekbones, can kill you with a spoon?”
“Oh.” Henry's eyes go very round. “That Irina.”
Whether she's human or abnormal, nobody has ever liked (dared) to ask. Smart money is on 'Terminator'. Nikola, obscurely cheered, finds that his opinion of MacRae has risen a notch.
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Kat sits on her bed, takes off her boots, and tries to sort out her mind. She's just been shown up to a room that wouldn't be out of place in an English stately home, four-poster bed and all, by a sasquatch. Outside the windows, the faint lights of Old City, and beyond that, the skyline of New City over the river, a different world, unsuspecting.
Helen is always surprisingly friendly and approachable for who she is, pole star and guiding light of the Sanctuary Network, Will seems pleasant enough, and Henry is just adorkable. Even the Big Guy is a distant amiable presence. She'd been prepared to meet them. What she had not been prepared for was Nikola Tesla.
Kat groans, and flops back on the bed, hands to her face. She's always been attracted to intelligent older men, who dress well, she was never not going to have a reaction to him. But, screw it, the man is gorgeous. Insanely smart, wickedly funny, ruthlessly charming and - looking damn fine for his age. Because he's a vampire.
All the things she's heard and observed, the things that she can't forget about him. The things that she can't afford to forget about him. He wears his years more lightly than James did, but there is something in the way he moves, fleeting gestures - he's old, over a century and a half of life, and no sense that any of his time is borrowed, and he's not human, not anymore.
And the most intangible thing. He's - Helen's. Just as James had been.
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Nikola sits in the quiet library, with a glass of Burgundy and a volume of Goethe. His eyes rest thoughtfully on the ladder, left in shadow with the rest of the room.
He's always been fond of the name Katherine. (There had been another, over a lifetime ago, but she had been the loving wife of a dear friend, and he has his own code of honour.) She'd known James well enough for him to have told her of the Five. But she isn't part of the Sanctuary, not one of Helen's trainee Valkyries, with their bright sharp eyes and hard sharp smiles and ready recourse to violence. (Helen might like her men at her heel, but she likes her women as dangerous as she is.) A scholar, who spoke of his race with knowledge and respect.
He finds it a little insulting that everyone seems to think that his advances might be unwelcome. He'll admit that his initial approach was a tad unorthodox, but it was effective. Although, with hindsight, possibly unnecessary, because she had been sufficiently impressed by his very existence, which made a pleasant change.
If you were to really press Nikola, in the absolute depths of his being, he'd admit to liking Henry - the pup has promise. But William irritates him, gambolling at Helen's heels and dismissing all their history together because he's the shiny new toy, now. The children don't respect him, have no idea of his capabilities. They are lucky that he is a patient and tolerant man, and unwilling to upset Helen, because otherwise, William would have had some of his taunts put back down his throat with claws behind them. Of course he has his own agenda, he had a life before Helen Magnus, has a huge part of his life which is not her concern at all - her time is spent gathering the poor and dispossessed of the abnormal world under her torch, to her, sanguine vampiris are just one race amongst the many - and they have no right to judge him for pursuing goals that may not meet with her whole-hearted approval.
He should take himself back to his lab, his work, where there's a redhead who would be happy to admire him. As well as any number of giggling interns, and a roster of secretaries - he has never had any trouble attracting female attention. It has proved to be a hindrance when he's been working on more than one occasion. But they all know him as 'Dr Nicholas Teller' there, because nobody has clearance otherwise. Nikola Tesla, late of Gospić, is another story.
There are people who know what he is, but only Helen now to remember him as who he was. It had been curiously pleasant to have an evening round the table, telling tales from their past, without the need to hide.
Sixty years alone in the shadows had not been good for him, he can see that in hindsight. Perhaps he'll stick around for a few days.